University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


ON  THE   NEW   SANTA  FE  TRAIL 


. 


THE  ZOO   SPECIAL 


THE   TENDERFEET 


ON   THE 

NEW  SANTA  FE 

TRAIL 


THE  RECORD  OF  A  JOURNEY 
TO  THE  LAND  OF  SUNSHINE 
BY  SIX  AND  A  HALF  TENDERFEET 


WRITTEN  AND  ILLUSTRATED 
BY    ALL    OF    US    TOGETHER 


NEW  YORK  —  PHILADELPHIA 

PRIVATELY  PRINTED  AND  NOT  PUBLISHED  AT  ALL. 
BECAUSE  WE  ARE  ON  VACATION 

1903 


Copyright,  1903,  by  us 
Please  keep  off  the  grass 


THE  WORLD'S  WORK  PRESS 
NEW  YORK 


TO 

PAUL  MORTON 

JOHN  J.  BYRNE 

E.  W.  McGEE 

I.  L.  HIBBARD 

JOHN  F.  HUCKLE 

and  all  the  good  Santa  Fe  people  who  have  made  us 
thrice  blessed,  this  book  by  little-known  husbands  of 
well-known  wives  is 

DEDICATED 


THE  HAYSEEDS  FROM  THE  EAST: 

MR.  and  MRS.  F.  COIT  JOHNSON,  now  first  taking  up  the  literary 
life,  known  as  The  Gazelles ;  MR.  and  MRS.  EDWARD  BOK,  from 
Philadelphia,  and  glad  of  it,  known  (Heaven  knows  why)  as  The 
l^mbs  ;  MR.  and  MRS.  FRANK  N.  DOUBLEDAY,  hard-working, 
industrious  citizens,  libeled  as  The  Bears  ;  DOROTHY  DOUBLEDAY,  small 
but  A.  D.  G.  S. 


FOREWORD 

AS  this  story  begins  at   Independence,  Mo. 
(a  suburb  of  Kansas  City),  the  present 
tenderfoot  will  say  nothing  of  the  diffi- 
culty of  trying  to  get  a  special  car  from  the  Pull- 
man people,  the  failure  to  achieve  this  end  because 
other  people  happened  to  have  vacations  at  this 
time,  and  the  final  rescue  made  by  Tom  Brown, 
who  seemed  to  be  Mr.  Paul  Morton's  second  self 
and   right-hand   man.     He   promised   a   car   at 
Albuquerque,  and  was  as  good  as  his  word. 

To  give  "verisimilitude  to  an  otherwise  bald 
and  unconvincing  narrative,"  we  will  copy  here 
the  letter  given  by  us  to  Mr.  J.  J.  Byrne,  of  Los 
Angeles,  from  Mr.  Morton ;  but  for  this,  all  that 
follows  might  seem  a  pipe  dream.  Here  it  is : 

February  7,   1903. 
MR.  JOHN  J.  BYRNE,  G.  P.  A.,  Los  ANGELES. 

My  Dear  Byrne:  This  will  be  handed  to  you  by  Mr.  F.  N. 
Doubleday,  who  is  a  very  old  friend  of  mine,  and  a  publisher 
of  one  or  two  cheap  magazines,  The  World's  Work  and 
Country  Life  in  America. 

Mr.  Doubleday,  with  his  wife,  and  Mr.  Bok,  of  The  Ladies1 
Home  Journal,  and  wife,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F.  Coit  Johnson, 
of  New  York  City,  are  out  to  see  the  painted  desert  for  the 
first  time.  The  entire  party  are  tenderfeet,  and  there  are 
many  places  that  it  will  not  be  safe  for  you  to  take  them. 
Silver  City  should  be  avoided. 

I  want  this  party  to  see  everything  worth  seeing  west  of 
Albuquerque.  They  ought  to  stop  at  Isleta  or  Laguna,  stop 

I 


2  Foreword 

at  Flagstaff,  go  to  the  Grand  Canyon,  see  the  Kite-Shaped 
Track,  especially  visiting  the  orange  groves  at  Riverside  and 
Smiley  Heights,  see  Mount  Lowe,  Coronado,  and  other  places, 
and  I  will  depend  upon  you  to  take  good  care  of  them. 

Incidentally,  you  might  call  their  attention  to  the  advan- 
tages of  California  as  a  summer  resort.  I  do  not  think  it  will 
ever  be  necessary  for  us  to  advertise  in  any  of  these  periodi- 
cals represented  again,  so  far  as  winter  business  is  concerned, 
but  we  may  have  occasion  to  use  them,  now  and  then,  for 
our  summer  trade. 

Yours  very  truly, 

PAUL   MORTON. 


THE  FIRST  AND  SECOND  DAYS  (Feb.  8-9,  1903) 

Saturday  night,  February  ;th,  we  left  Chicago 
in  a  snow-storm  and  woke  up  near  Kansas  City  in 
a  land  still  powdered  white.  With  the  broad 
fields  and  horizons  stretched  out  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  eye  on  both  sides,  the  tenderfeet 
awakened  to  new  sensations  of  the  prairie  and  the 
bigness  of  the  face  of  the  earth. 

We  were  sorry  when  the  conductor  told  us  we 
would  have  to  spend  four  hours  at  Kansas  City, 
not  because  we  had  anything  against  that  pros- 
perous place,  but  because  we  had  seen  such  places 
before.  After  slopping  around  in  a  regular 
"east-side"  sort  of  neighborhood,  we  took  a 
trolley  with  the  idea  of  killing  time,  and,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  we  found  we  were  going  to  Inde- 
pendence. 

IMPORTANT  IF  TRUE 

Now  Independence  is  a  very  important  place; 
none  of  us  had  ever  heard  of  it  before,  and  after 
seeing  it  from  the  car  window  we  never  cared  to 
hear  of  it  again  ;  but  Mrs.  Bear  discovered  late  in 
the  day  that  it  was  a  most  important  place  when 
the  Santa  Fe  trail  was  doing  business,  mostly 
in  killing  people,  until  the  ground  was  "soaked 
with  blood."  - 


4  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

Curiously  enough,  ground  soaked  with  human 
gore  was  in  some  respects  new  to  us,  and  Mrs.  Bear 
is  most  anxious  that  her  husband  should  crib  from 
a  book  called  "The  Old  Santa  Fe  Trail,"  by 
Inman's,  and  write  a  full  description,  preferably 
in  red  ink,  but  he  won't.  If  you  want  to  know 
about  it,  save  up  $2.40  and  send  it  to  a  publisher 
called  Crane  &  Company,  of  Topeka,  Kansas, 
for  a  copy  of  this  book;  turn  to  page  141  and 
help  yourself. 

HAIL  TO  THE  HARVEYS  ! 

When  the  gang  got  back  to  the  car  we  found 
we  had  missed  seeing  Mr.  John  F.  Huckle,  an  old 
friend  of  the  Lamb  and  the  Bears  when  all  were 
publishers'  scrubs  together  in  New  York,  but  now 
Mr.  Huckle  is  a  great  dignitary  in  the  firm  of 
Fred.  Harvey,  who  feeds  the  elect  on  the  Sante  F6. 

Just  before  starting,  however,  Mr.  Huckle 
turned  up ;  we  were  glad  to  see  him,  of  course, 
but  if  we  had  known  that  he  was  full  of  magic 
"  press-the-buttons, "  which  flew  over  the  country 
with  telegraph  sparks,  we  should  have  kow-towed 
in  a  manner  to  have  made  San  Toy  look  like  a 
shilling  tuppence  ha'penny.  In  every  restau- 
rant we  went  into  Huckle 's  word  had  preceded 
us  and  we  were  received  by  the  resident  manager 
with  a  grandness  which  made  our  heads  palpitate 
with  great  bunches  of  swellings. 

ON  THE  ENGINES 

Among  other  things,  we  had  been  promised  by 
Mr.  Morton  a  permit  to  ride  on  the  engines.  It 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  5 

had  been  sent  to  Topeka,  and  as  our  Number  7 — 
we  had  begun  already  to  call  the  trains  in  this 
familiar  and  personal  way — did  not  go  via  Topeka, 
we  had  despaired  of  getting  our  permit,  and  said 
so,  amid  a  flood  of  tears,  to  our  friend  Huckle, 
with  the  result  that  an  hour  later,  and  at  the  first 
stop,  the  conductor  placed  this  telegram  in  the 
hands  of  the  Bear: 

To  CONDUCTOR  No.  7.  TOPEKA,  8,  1903. 

This  will  be  permission  for  Mr.  Doubleday  and  two  travel- 
ing friends.  This  party  are  on  your  train  and  will  probably 
want  to  ride  on  engine  at  various  points  of  road  west.  Locate 
them  and  advise.  Answer. 

J.   E.   HURLY. 

We  used  this  telegram  to  rags.  We  never  met 
Mr.  Hurly,  but  we'll  go  bail  that  he's  the  real 
simon  pure  thing — may  his  shadow  never  grow 
fainter.  Mr.  Gazelle,  the  Lamb  and  the  Bear 
took  the  precious  telegram  in  their  hands  and 
approached  the  engine  at  the  first  stop.  With 
quaking  knees  and  trembling  hands  we  handed  it 
to  a  great  strapping  specimen  of  the  West,  a 
splendid  American — expecting  to  have  all  our 
faces  pushed  in  at  the  mere  idea  of  helping  to  run 
a  fifty-ton  Dixon.  He  read  the  magic  words.  If 
we  had  been  President  Roosevelt,  Prince  Henry, 
Paul  Morton  and  the  Beer  that  made  Milwaukee 
famous  all  rolled  into  one,  we  could  not  have  been 
treated  better.  We  hung  on  and  around  that 
engine  for  hours,  and  the  Lamb  pushed  Mr. 
Engineer  Gossard  off  his  seat.  They  talked 
together  in  three-ply  tones  for  hours,  while  the 


6  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

Gazelle  and  the  Bear  enjoyed  themselves  on  the 
fireman's  seat. 

Thus  we  ran  through  Kansas,  following  the 
setting  sun,  which  beat  us  at  the  end  and  sank 
between  the  rails  in  front.  Three  kids  with  a 
small  carmine-colored  wagon  could  not  have 
been  more  happy  when  we  went  back  to  our  wives 
and  told  of  our  experiences.  Later  we  all  took 
rides,  even  Mrs.  Gazelle  hopping  spryly  on  the 
locomotive  and  enjoying  a  hundred-mile  spin. 

Ho  !  FOR  NEW  MEXICO 

All  day  Monday,  February  pth,  we  rode  through 
Kansas  into  New  Mexico.  When  we  went  to 
meals,  a  member  of  Mr.  Huckle's  staff  seated  us 
and  gave  us,  not  woolen  sandwiches,  but  food 
that  did  us  good  to  eat  and  which  added  weight 
to  the  ponderous  forms  of  at  least  two  of  our 
party. 

A  little  fine  writing  is  due  just  here.  Take  a 
tenderfoot  and  set  him  on  the  plain  of  New 
Mexico  and  his  soul  is  dead  if  it  doesn't  leap  with 
the  joy  of  living.  The  coloring  of  the  rocks,  the 
soil,  the  sky,  and  the  blend  of  it  all  is  too  much 
for  me  to  tell  about,  but  it  was  a  revelation.  That 
night  we  landed  at  Albuquerque,  and  Mr.  E.  W. 
McGee,  of  Los  Angeles  and  the  Sante  Fe",  met  us. 
He  seemed  just  a  plain  man  like  the  tenderfeet 
themselves,  but  he  turned  out  to  be  another 
wizard.  He  touched  everybody  and  everything 
for  our  benefit  without  apparent  effort  and 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  7 

invited  us  to  go  into  our  car.     We  tried  not  to 
look  too  pleased,  but  we  failed. 

THE  THIRD  DAY  (February  loth) 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  we  awakened 
to  the  glorious  sunshine  which  seems  to  be  our 
New  Mexican  portion.  After  feasting  our  eyes  on 
the  Aztec  colorings  of  the  Alvarado,  especially 
those  of  the  dining-room,  which  is  a  most  delight- 
ful place ;  and  incidentally  having  satisfied  the 
inner  man,  we  started  out  to  do  the  city  of 
Albuquerque.  We  were  almost  immediately 
halted  by  the  alluring  visions  of  the  Harvey 
Indian  Emporium  and  at  once  succumbed  to 
its  fascinations.  We  were  introduced  to 

THE  BEST  BASKET-MAKER  IN  THE  WORLD. 

Mrs.  Joseppa,  who,  according  to  Dr.  Dorsey,  is 
the  best  living  basket-maker,  introduced  us 
to  some  specimens  of  her  handiwork  which 
convinced  us  of  the  truth  of  the  claim.  She  is 
said  to  have  made  as  much  as  $500  in  a  month  by 
the  sale  of  her  products.  What  a  commentary 
that  is  on  the  wisdom  of  those  misguided  friends 
( ?)  of  the  Indians,  who  are  striving  to  have  them 
taught  to  make  tidies  at  twenty-five  cents  per 
dozen,  and  other  useless  things  for  a  living,  when 
there  is  an  unsatisfied  demand  for  those  works  of 
art,  to  the  production  of  which  the  Indians  have  a 
natural  and  hereditary  gift,  but  which  the  white 
man  has  taught  them  to  look  on  as  worthless 


8  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

and  contemptible.  We  were  becoming  extrav- 
agantly enthusiastic  over  the  attractive  wares 
offered  for  sale, 


WHEN  OUR  PRUDENT  CONSERVATOR, 

Mr.  McGee,  noticing  alarming  symptoms  on 
the  part  of  some  of  our  ladies,  dragged  us  away 
for  a  drive  through  the  old  town.  We  got  the 
"  Lamb"  safely  past  "  Pat's  Place, "  the  gambling 
Hell  (with  a  capital  H)  of  the  town,  alas  !  only  to 
be  fleeced  later  by  an  innocent  appearing  vendor 
of  blankets ;  and  entered  the  narrow  and  crooked 
streets  of  the  old  Mexican  settlement.  We  were 
told  that  the  streets  were  laid  out  that  way  so  that 
the  Indians  could  not  attack  in  force  any  one 
section  of  the  town,  and  by  reason  of  the  frequent 
turnings  must  exercise  caution  in  their  rushes. 
We  arrived  at  last  at  the  Government  school  for 
Indian  boys  and  girls  and  were  courteously  shown 
through  by  the  superintendent,  Mr.  Collins. 
I  don't  know  enough  about  such  matters  to 
criticize,  but  it  seemed  to  me  the  Government 
support  left  much  to  be  desired.  After 
another  aesthetically  toned  meal,  we  separated, 
not  because  of  any  estrangement,  but  that 
a  diversity  of  tastes  might  be  satisfied.  For  those 
who  could  sleep  I  can  only  feel  a  helpless  wonder. 
The  walkers  were  doubtless  repaid,  but  the  riders 
were  the  ones  who  really  enjoyed  life.  Our  dead 
game  sport, 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail  g 

THE  LITTLE  SHE  BEAR  DISTINGUISHED  HERSELF 

on  a  calico-spotted  ex-circus  pony  and  has  since 
been  unable  to  think,  talk  or  dream  of  anything 
else.  Well,  if  you  have  ever  had  the  happiness  of 
bounding  over  the  plains  of  New  Mexico  on  a 
broncho,  you  will  understand  her  delight ;  and  if 
you  haven't,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  Later  in  the  after- 
noon we  rendezvoused  at  the  Harvey  Museum, 
and  there,  under  the  scientific  guidance  of  Doctor 
Dorsey,  we  spent  two  wonderful  and  happy  hours. 
Those  of  us  who  had  previously  resisted  the 
Indian  bacilli  here  became  innoculated,  and  we 
are  all  now  hunting  [hunting  is  good — Editor] 
for  blankets,  baskets  and  the  gory  scalping-knife. 
The  good  doctor  was  bent  on  driving  sixty-five 
miles  to  the  Moki  Pueblos,  and  he  reassured  us 
by  saying  that  if  we  could  arrange  for  relays  of 
horses  the  sufferings  of  the  trip  would  be  "  less 
intense  "  from  cold  and  fatigue.  When  we  had 
partially  shaken  off  the  Dorsey  spell,  we  discov- 
ered that  it  was  time  to  eat  again  and  to  pack 
for  a  jaunt  of  several  days  among  the  wonders 
between  Albuquerque  and  Los  Angeles. 

Before  dinner  Mr.  McGee  introduced  us  to 
Mr.  I.  L.  Hibbard,  Superintendent  of  the  Albu- 
querque division  of  the  Santa  Fe".  He,  observing 
the  size  and  pervasiveness  of  our  party,  with  that 
delightful  Santa  F6  hospitality  which  we  have  met 
everywhere,  promptly  ordered  his  car  attached  to 
the  other  one  that  had  been  assigned  to  our  use, 
and,  with  bulging  chests  and  constantly  swell- 
ing heads,  we  boarded  our  train  for  the  start. 


io  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

Oh  !  those  cars 

But  that  is  another  story. 

THE  FOURTH  DAY  (February  nth) 

Up  with  the  sun  (mark  that  for  the  Lambs !) 
and  we  were  at  Laguna,  sixty-six  miles  west  of 
Albuquerque,  with  our  "special"  side-tracked, 
three  hobos  washing  and  shaving  in  a  railroad- 
tie  camp  beside  the  car,  the  town  of  Laguna,  with 
its  population  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  Indians,  on 
the  rocks  above  us  at  the  right,  and  the  "  desert" 
and  the  far-off  mountain  peaks  at  the  left. 

The  first  thing  was  the  first  breakfast  on  the 
"special,"  and  how  fragrant  is  the  memory 
thereof  !  We  were  Force-ibly  led  up  to  "  cakes, " 
and  enough  is  this  silent  record : 

The  Three  Bears,  29. 

The  Two  Gazelles,  24. 

The  Conservator,  2  (according  to  his  own  figures) . 

Full  of  Force,  we  climbed  into  three  wagons 
and  we  were  ready  for  a  drive  to  the  settlement  of 
the  Acoma  Indians,  twenty  miles  away.  At  nine 
the  wagons  were  off — that  is,  the  first  one  was 
literally  off.  In  another  sense  the  second  was  off ; 
especially  as  regards  a  gray  horse  seventeen  years 
old,  who  had  gotten 

THROUGH  WITH  THIS  WORLD'S  WORK 

several  years  ago.  There  were  still  four  miles 
to  the  hour  left  in  him,  and  with  the  help  of  a  few 
Indian  yells,  the  lash  of  a  whip  set  one  to  a  minute 


SAFETY-PIN   TRAIL 

At  Acoma 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail  1 1 

and  a  few  pebble  stones,  we  went  along  that 
"desert"  wooded  for  miles  and  miles  with  cedar 
and  oak  trees,  sage  brush  of  a  soft  gray  tone, 
cacti  of  beautiful  forms,  with  every  now  and  then 
a  flutter  of  blue  birds  (and  they  were  blue,  God's 
blue) ,  robins  and  snow  birds  in  the  air,  with  sheep, 
horses,  broncos  and  cattle  grazing  on  the  arid 
plains,  with  a  panorama  of  perfect  scenic  beauty 
of  mountain  peak  and  sloping  valley — it  was 
indeed  a  desert  not  in  accord  with  the  precon- 
ceived notions  of  six  and  a  half  eastern  tenderfeet. 
Over  this  desert  we  raced — that  is,  the  first  wagon 
did — with  the  bronco  and  the  gray  regulating 
the  speed  of  the  other  two  wagons,  until  the 
"  Enchanted  Mesa"  loomed  on  the  'scape. 

THE  BEAR  BEGINS  TO  SNORT 

Four  hundred  and  thirty  feet  it  rose  into  the 
air,  and  the  Bear,  with  his  natural  climbing 
instincts,  snorted  at  the  idea  that  its  summit  was 
so  difficult  of  ascent  that  only  a  few  white  men 
and  only  one  white  woman  have  ever  reached  its 
broad  top.  When  the  Bear's  desire  to  bet  that 
he  could  reach  the  summit  before  the  gray  horse 
and  the  bronco  could  pass  the  "Mesa"  was 
finally  overcome  by  a  compromise  that  he  could 
sleep  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon  on  a  bed  of  alfalfa, 
the  journey  was  peaceably  resumed,  and  at  one 
o'clock  the  Acoma  settlement  was  reached. 

This  Mesa  was  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above 
the  plain.  It  looked  easy  of  ascent,  especially  to 
the  Lady  Gazelle,  and,  true  to  her  name,  she 


12  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

sprang  to  the  duty  which  lay  before  her  like  a 
fawn.  Whirling  sands  disturbed  her  not,  but 
whirling  skirts  !  It  was  here  that  the  conservator 
conserved,  and  with  the  skill  of  a  dexterous 
builder  of  gowns,  and  the  help  of  a  mouthful  of 
safety-pins  which  were  only  to  be  called  for  to  be 
produced  (so  fruitful  is  this  New  Mexico  desert), 
the  swirling  skirts  became  mountain  climbers, 
and  the  party  was  face  to  face  with  the  Acoma 
Indians  in  their  own  homes.  Thirty  homes  there 
were,  so  neat  in  their  interiors  that  it  seemed 
strange  that  the  sense  of  neatness  was  not  a  part 
of  the  Indian  himself.  But 

THE   STRONG   AND   HANDSOME   FACES   OF    THE 
INDIANS, 

the  soft,  well-pitched  voices  of  the  women,  the 
shyness  of  the  children,  the  courtesy  and  warm 
welcome  of  them  all,  told  the  best  in  the  clear 
natures  of  these  children  of  the  "Mesa."  Into 
their  homes  we  went,  seeing  their  pottery,  seeing 
the  girls  grinding  their  corn-meal  for  dinner.  The 
church  of  stone  and  mud,  representing  the  labor 
of  generations,  is  no  more  remarkable,  perhaps, 
than  their  graveyard  for  every  foot  of  the  soil  of 
which  was  carried  up  from  the  plain.  Perfect 
contentment  seemed  to  be  the  prevailing  charac- 
teristic of  this  people  who  have  deliberately  chosen 
to  live  on  this  stone  summit  to  which  they  must 
bring  every  drop  of  water,  every  stick  of  wood  and 
every  mouthful  of  food  from  the  plain  below,  and 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail  13 

whose  houses  are  only  reached  by  ladders  of  a 
dozen  rungs  even  after  the  summit  is  climbed. 

But  the  gray  horse  was  champing  its  bit,  restive 
for  another  four-mile-to-an-hour  gallop,  and 
homeward  we  turned.  The  drive  was  another 
feast  of  Nature — this  time  with  those  wondrous 
opalescent  colors  that  only  this  western  country 
knows.  At  six  the  drive  was  over,  Laguna  and 
the  "special"  hove  in  sight,  and  the  day  was 
done,  and  so  was  the  party. 

But  it  was  a  great  day. 

THE  FIFTH  DAY  (LINCOLN'S  BIRTHDAY) 

We  supposed  we  had  left  the  hoboes  behind  at 
Laguna  when  the  royal  party  was  pulled  westward 
by  a  special  engine  on  Wednesday  night,  but 
behold  a  tramp,  who  said  he  had  stolen  a  ride  in 
a  freight  car,  comfortably  seated  in  the  royal 
library  when  the  Tenderfeet  rallied  this  morning 
before  breakfast.  Moreover,  he  looked  as  if  he 
actually  had  rights  there.  ' '  Unwashed,  uncombed, 
unbarbered"  he  certainly  was  not.  With  calm 
self-assurance  he  lolled  in  a  deep-seated  chair, 
his  patent  leathers  comfortably  crossed,  a  cigar 
held  lightly  between  his  manicured  fingers.  Who 
could  the  interloper  be  ? 

"Let  me  introduce  Mr.  J.  J.  Byrne, 

GRAND  POOH-BAH  OP  THE  SANTA  FE 

Railroad, "  said  the  Conservator,  just  entering. 
All  kow-towed  with  bated  breath. 


14  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

So  this  was  the  gentleman  who,  like  the  Conserv- 
ator, had  left  his  happy  home  in  Los  Angeles  for 
us  !  He  had  traveled  more  than  a  thousand  miles  to 
overtake  the  Tenderfeet  and  personally  conduct 
them  through  the  wonderful  region  traversed  by 
that  section  of  the  road  which  is  his  special  care. 
It  was  not  enough  that  Mr.  McGee  should  lie 
awake  nights  planning  comforts  and  luxuries  for 
the  party — not  forgetting  aqua  ammonia  to  soften 
the  water,  or  Pond's  Extract  for  the  sunburned 
faces.  It  was  not  enough  that  Mr.  Hibbard 
should  banish  himself  from  his  comfortable 
private  car  and  annex  it  to  the  royal  palace, 
he,  himself 

SLEEPING    ON    THE    DESERT,  ON    CAR    TRUCKS 

or  who  knows  where,  that  we  might  luxuriate 
in  space.  No !  The  High  and  Mighty  Hobo 
must  needs  devote  a  week  of  his  valuable  time  to 
see  that  the  desert  flowed  with  milk  and  honey 
for  us  un  wort  hies. 

It  would  be  a  miserably  ungrateful  chronicler 
who  made  no  allusion  to  the  griddle  cakes — 
those  dreams  of  delight — after  which  we  awake 
daily  to  the  consciousness  of  work  ahead.  "Let 
us  dream  again"  is  the  prayer  breathed  at  Robert's 
door  each  night  before  we  sleep. 

The  day's  work  this  morning  began  with 

AN  UNPREMEDITATED  VISIT  TO  A  TRADING  STORE 

beside  the  railroad  track,  where  it  was  hoped 
a  Navajo  rug  might  be  found  to  compensate  the 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail  1 5 

Gazelles  for  the  loss  of  the  bargain  which  the 
Lamb  ssecured  at  Laguna — a  loss  which  had 
cost  Mrs.  Gazelle  bitter  tears  of  regret  and  most 
unchristian  pangs  of  envy.  But  the  Bear,  with 
his  mighty  paw,  snatched  a  splendid  large  bath- 
rug  from  the  trader,  while  the  Lady  Gazelle  tried 
in  vain  to  comfort  herself  with  a  pink  Navajo 
postage  stamp.  (The  store  was  also  the  post-office.) 
Another  short  run  behind  an  iron  horse  pro- 
pelled by  oil — coal,  like  greenbacks,  being  associ- 
ated with  the  Effete  East — brought  us  to 

THE   DENSELY  POPULATED  CITY  OF  ADAMANA, 
ARIZONA 

whose  sky-scrapers  were  scarcely  visible  behind 
the  imposing  railroad  station.  Here  prancing 
Indian  ponies  attached  to  prairie  schooners 
stood  in  readiness  to  conduct  the  tenderfeet  to 
the  Petrified  Forest,  about  seven  miles  away. 
A  gentle  zephyr  murmured  welcome  to  us  as  we 
rode  over  the  snow-covered  desert.  Soft -tinted 
plants  reared  themselves  bravely  along  the  way — 
tufts  of  yellowish-green  greasewood  that  wafted 
an  aromatic  odor  as  we  passed;  gray,  lifeless 
sage-brush;  grayish-green,  many-spined  cacti  of 
various  species,  some  creeping  over  the  ground, 
forming  a  prickly  carpet,  some  standing  like 
gaunt  sentinels,  challenging  acquaintance  with 
the  passer-by,  their  forbidding  arms  nevertheless 
tipped  even  now  with  yellow  flowers;  tufts  of 
curly  brown  buffalo  grass  that  furnishes  the 
apparently  nourishing  food  of 


1 6  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

COUNTLESS    SHEEP    KEPT    BY    MEXICANS    AND 
NAVAJOES 

alike  throughout  this  arid  region;  and  along 
the  scanty  water-courses,  grayish-white  cotton- 
wood  trees — the  tallest  that  grow  hereabouts — 
advertise  precious  refreshment  for  man  and 
beast.  Over  the  snow  were  seen  tracks  as  if 
multitudes  of  birds  had  recently  run  across  it; 
but  not  a  bird  was  in  sight.  No ;  these  were  the 
impressions  of  the  grasses  which,  whipped  by 
the  wind,  were  also  bowed  low  until  they  printed 
their  outlines  on  the  spotless  surface.  Under 
the  mounds  of  sand  that  drift  around  the  roots  of 
greasewood  and  other  desert  plants,  many  little 
animals  tunnel  their  homes:  ground  squirrels, 
mice,  rabbits  and  owls;  though  the  rabbits  are 
said  to  prefer  the  shelter  of  the  stunted  cedars 
that  dot  the  landscape. 
On  jog 

THE  PRAIRIE  SCHOONERS  ACROSS  THE  DESERT 

the  hubs  of  their  wheels  scraping  the  red  mud 
which  melting  snow  formed  in  the  deep  ruts  of  a 
well-worn  road.  The  ponies  bend  their  heads  to 
the  keen  wind.  The  Tenderfeet,  swathed  in 
Navajo  rugs,  nevertheless  shiver  in  their  seats  as 
the  piercing  blasts  sweep  across  boundless  open 
space,  meeting  no  opposition  until  it  strikes  their 
shrinking  bodies.  "By  and  by  I  think  it  is 
going  to  blow,"  observes  the  driver  to  the  nearly 
petrified  Tenderfeet  in  Schooner  No.  2.  "Then 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail  1 7 

let's  prepare,"  said  the  High  and  Mighty  Hobo, 
letting  down  the  strong  white  curtains  so  as  to 
enclose  the  shivering  guests  over  whom  he  was 
Guardian  Angel.  In  Schooner  No.  i,  Mr.  Gazelle 
was  intently  examining  the  aforesaid  curtains, 
noting  the  number  of  "picks"  to  a  "fill,"  and 
wondering  how  he  should  set  about  securing  a 
contract. 

To  be  "rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep"  is 
as  nothing  compared  with  being  rocked  in  a 
prairie  schooner  by  a  howling  sou'wester. 
Happily  there  was 

ONE  OF  OUR  Two  HEAVYWEIGHTS  IN  EACH 
WAGON 

anchoring  us  to  earth,  or  we  might  have  been 
blown  back  to  Chicago.  Mrs.  Gazelle's  famous 
safety  pins  found  a  new  use  in  fastening  Navajo 
blankets  around  Siamese  twins. 

Presently  we  entered  a  gorge  between  bare 
sandstone  hills  of  curious  chocolate  and  pistache 
tints,  and  sprinkled  over  the  ground  were  broken 
bits  of  petrified  trees,  cross-sections  showing 
bark,  cambium  layer  and  inner  circles  of  growth, 
logs  of  stone  from  two  to  ten  feet  long  arid  from 
a  few  inches  to  several  feet  in  diameter:  logs 
of  a  beautiful  rich  red  marked  with  indescribably 
beautiful  tints  of  green,  yellow,  gray,  white, 
black,  brown  and  blue.  It  was  as  if  some  huge 
Titan  had  sawn  the  trees  of  a  prehistoric  world 
asunder  and  tossed  them  about  his  vast  lumber- 
yard. : 


1 8  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

THE   MYSTERY   OF   THE   PLACE    APPALLS    ONE 

For  nature  here  takes  on  a  grandeur  and 
majesty  that  the  puny  imagination  of  man  dimly 
comprehends.  Even  the  scientist  stands  in  the 
Petrified  Forest  with  his  ringer  held  to  dumb 
lips.  He  may  speculate  as  much  as  he  pleases 
about  the  work  of  glaciers  in  the  Ice  Age, 
bringing  down  from  the  remote  mountains  trees 
of  a  vast  size,  coloring  them  with  chemicals 
that  turned  them  to  stone  in  their  travels,  and 
finally  depositing  them  upon  a  well-nigh  treeless 
desert;  but  the  wonder  and  the  mystery  of  the 
forest  remain. 

Unoppressed  by  speculation 

THE  TENDERFEET  ALIGHT  FROM  THEIR  SCHOONERS 

only  to  feel  the  earth  sinking  beneath  their  feet. 
Down,  down,  down  they  go  into  the  soft  mud. 
See  the  Gazelles  leap  from  stone  to  stone  with 
marvelous  agility,  picking  up  bits  of  the  forest 
as  they  skip  from  point  to  point;  note  the  Bear 
pawing  the  mud  frantically,  to  unearth  sections  of 
parti -colored  stone ;  pity  the  gallant  Conservator 
losing  overshoes — but  not  his  temper — in  his 
efforts  to  pave  the  floor  of  our  schooners  with 
prehistoric  mosaic; 

WEEP  FOR  THE  LAMBS  STANDING  GUMLESS 

and  miserable  in  the  midst  of  beauty  that  they 
struggle  nobly  to  attain.  Seeking  the  seclusion 
that  the  schooners  granted,  some  of  the  Tenderfeet 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail  19 

retired  to  commune  with  Nature — to  read  her 
"sermons  in  stones" — or  to  scrape  the  mud  from 
their  soles. 

As  the  schooners  wound  their  way  back  from 
the  forest,  the  wind  subsided,  a  marvelous  sun- 
set did  its  best  to  eclipse  the  colors  of  the  petri- 
fied trees;  the  desert  took  on  new  beauty  in  a 
light  that  mellowed  gradually  from  brillancy  to 
ethereal  softness  until  darkness  fell  over  all. 
But  even  now  the  lights  from  our  cars  shone 
a  welcome  to  the  returning  Tenderfeet.  Home 
again ! 

And  here  endeth  the  fifth  lesson,  but  without  a 
word  of  our  tragic  supper  when,  peacefully  dally- 
ing with  more  of  Robert's  good  things,  we  felt  a 
crash  and  bump  and  then  our  car  being  hauled 
away  into  the  cruel  outside  world  again.  Our 
High  and  Mighty  Hobo  opened  the  door  upon 
our  Conservator's  back  porch  and  hurled  an 
inquiry  into  the  darkness,  when  in  sepulchral 
tones  from  the  depths  below  came  the  reply, 
"  We  were  No.  33,  but  we  died. "  When  we  came 
to  after  this  thunderbolt  it  was  explained  to  the 
very  Tenderfeet  that  a  train  twelve  hours  late 
loses  not  only  its  rights,  but  its  very  existence. 

And  now  for  our  sixth  day,  which  was  started 
at  Flagstaff  with  another  of  those  long-to-be- 
remembered  breakfasts,  followed  by  a  fleeting 
glimpse  of  Babbitt's  wonderful  emporium  con- 
taining everything  from  shoestrings  to  Indian 
junk,  with  an  accent  on  the  Indian  junk,  which 
the  Bear,  Lamb  and  Gazelle  discovered  later,  and 
of  which  more  will  be  heard  anon. 


20  On  the  New  Santa  Fe*  Trail 

THE  CLIFF-DWELLERS 

After  fortifying  ourselves  with  arctics,  sweaters, 
woolen  gloves  and  still  another  "heart  to  heart" 
with  our  commissary  department,  we  embarked 
in  a  schooner  and  a  surrey  for  the  cliff-dwellers, 
nine  miles  away.  Lighted  lanterns  were  tucked 
away  with  our  feet  under  the  multitudinous 
Navajoes  in  which  we  were  buried,  keeping  us 
warm  and  comfy,  though  a  scorched  spot  was  left 
upon  one — a  treasure  trove  by  the  famous  Bear 
family  at  Navajo  station,  but  with  their  usual 
sang-froid  they  treated  it  as  a  mere  "bag  of 
shells." 

We  were  warned  that  we  might  come  upon  a 
bear,  coyote,  antelope,  and  many  other  things 
en  voyage,  so  a  sharp  lookout  was  kept  on  the 
tracks  in  the  snow,  but  it  was  not  until  we  dis- 
embarked at  Walnut  Canyon  and  were  following 
the  trail  down  the  gorge  that  we  came  upon  the 
real  thing.  There  in  the  deep  snow  we  could  see 
where  the  deer  or  antelope  had  bounded  down 
the  slope,  closely  followed,  alas !  by  the  larger 
tracks  of  the  mountain  lion;  we  saw  where  the 
latter  made  the  spring  across  the  gorge,  but  the 
probably  harrowing  outcome  we  can  only  surmise, 
Mr.  Thompson  Seton  being  left  in  the  effete  East. 
A  ten -minutes'  walk  brought  us  to  the  first  view 
of  the  marvel  we  had  come  to  see — -a  huge,  deep 
bowl-shaped  canyon  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
these  prehistoric  dwellings,  rising  tier  upon  tier 
to  the  heights  above. 

Whether  the  shelving  rocks  had  been  worn  by 


On  the  New  Santa  FJ  Trail  21 

lava  or  water  is  not  known,  but  that  the  projecting 
roofs  and  rocky  walls  made  snug,  warm  homes 
could  not  be  doubted;  many  stone  walls  and 
partitions  remain,  laid  neatly  with  a  mud  cement, 
and  many  bits  of  pottery  were  found  both  in  and 
about  the  dwellings.  The  gentlemen  of  our  party 
went  exploring,  leaving  the  ladies  chaperoned  by 
the  gentle  Gazelle,  to  marvel  and  dream  of  the 
life  that  had  been  here  ages  ago,  when  the  memory 
of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary. 

ORIGINAL  DISCOVERIES 

Many  discoveries  were  made  of  bits  of  pottery 
with  black-and-white  decorations,  and  some  more 
interesting  with  the  thumb  indentations,  which 
pattern  our  Lady  Bear  proved  to  us  was  taken 
from  the  bark  of  the  pines  which  covered  the 
surrounding  country. 

THE  GAZELLE  GAMBLES 

Our  time  here  was  all  too  short,  and  each  and 
every  one  asserted  on  the  home-stretch  that  we 
would  never  again  know  true  contentment  until 
we  could  come  in  more  leisurely  fashion  and 
pursue  our  explorations.  Upon  arriving  at  our 
home  on  wheels  once  more,  we  all  turned  to  and 
joined  the  Bear  family  around  the  festive  board, 
voting  the  day  had  been  the  best  ever.  Then, 
while  the  ladies  settled  down  to  writing  billet-doux 
as  well  as  they  could,  for  the  attentions  of  the 
H.  and  M.  H.  would  not  be  side-tracked,  the 


22  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

men  went  out  to  paint  the  town  of  Flagstaff  a 
brilliant  carmine,  and  one  more  day  was  to  go 
thundering  down  the  ages. 

THE  SEVENTH  DAY  (February  14) 

This  morning,  as  the  Menagerie  gathered  for 
food,  they  found  on  the  breakfast  table,  at  each 
plate,  various  little  packages  and  notes,  and 
realized  that  February  i4th  was  indeed  St. 
Valentines'  Day.  Each  member  of  the  party 
opened  his  or  her  package,  or  read  aloud  the 
poems — and  the  air  sparkled  with  wit.  There 
were  references  to  Hoboes,  New  York  Budds, 
Knights  of  the  Safety  Pin,  Lady  Jockeys, 

INDIAN    NELL,    PANCAKE    FLOSSIE,    TWO-FACED 
MARY 

Omnivorously  Appetited  Bears,  and  "Wooly- 
Mutton-Headed  Rams" — but  each  member  of 
the  party  seemed  hilariously  pleased — with  his 
neighbor's  cognomen.  After  a  cake-less  (but  not 
biscuit -less)  breakfast,  the  party  wandered  out  to 
inspect  Babbitt's  Emporium  at  Flagstaff.  There 
were  more  blankets,  pottery  and  baskets — and 
the  Gazelles,  being  sore  on  the  point  of  their  two- 
cent  postage  stamp,  covered  themselves  with 
glory  by  buying  a  rug  at  least  as  large  as  a  special 
delivery.  It  was  a  beauty,  and  the  party  all 
applauded. 

MRS.    BEAR  FELL   PREY   TO   THE   CHARMS 

of  one  Mr.  Fournier,  and  they  talked  long  and 
earnestly  of  things  Indian  and  prehistoric.  In 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  23 

fact,  Indian  Nell  talked  so  much  that  she  had 
time  to  buy  only  two  pieces  of  pottery — but  they 
were  beauties. 

At  10 130  the  train  started  for  Williams,  reaching 
there  in  two  hours.  Luncheon  was  announced, 
but  the  ladies  had  heard  that  Fred  Harvey 
had  a  curio  shop  close  by,  and  to  it  they 
went  instantly.  One  thing  which  took  their 
eye  was  a  sign  over  a  neighboring  saloon, 
announcing 

ALL  NATIONS  WELCOME — EVEN  CARRIE 

They  were  joined  for  luncheon  by  delightful 
friends  of  the  Hobo,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Malcolm 
and  Miss  Malcolm.  Indeed,  the  party  was 
surprised  to  find  a  Hobo  boasting  friends  of  such 
intelligence. 

After  the  noon  meal,  at  3:30  p.  M.,  the  train 
started  for  the  Grand  Canyon,  reaching  there  at 
6 130.  There  was  just  time  before  dinner  for  the 
party  to  walk  over  to  the  Log  Cabin  Hotel, 

QUITE  AT  THE  BRINK  OF  THE  CANYON 

Where  we  located  some  of  our  party  who  were 
to  sleep  there.  Then  we  peered  out  through  the 
fast -falling  gloom  at  the  great  canyon,  and  were 
hushed  to  silence  by  that  vast  stretch  of  twilight- 
filled  space.  It  was  already  too  dark  to  see  out- 
lines, but  we  were  awed  with  even  that  dim  glimpse 
of  the  wonders  that  lay  awaiting  us,  the  descrip- 
tion of  which  this  chronicler  gleefully  leaves  to 
the  Bear. 


24  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

THE  EIGHTH  DAY  (Sunday,  Feb.  15,  1903):   THE 
GRAND  CANYON 

Even  in  the  dark  we  could  feel  the  mys- 
terious presence  of  perhaps  the  First  Wonder 
of  the  World  as  we  looked  out  into  the  great  void, 
silent  and  awful.  Most  of  us  spent  the  night  in 
the  car,  and  the  heating  apparatus  having  given 
out,  we  slept  in  a  temperature  of  about  ten 
degrees  above  zero  and  minded  it  not  the  least,  so 
dry  and  pure  was  the  air  and  so  plucky  and  game 
were  the  ladies.  In  the  morning,  before  break- 
fast, we  hurried  up  again  to  the  Rim,  and  what 
was  a  black  pit  the  night  before,  "without  form, 
and  void, "  was  now 

A   GLORIOUS  CHASM   FILLED  WITH   PEAKS 

and  monstrous  cuts  in  the  rock,  torn  with 
gigantic  slashes,  and,  as  the  Santa  Fe"  so  justly 
and  continually  remarks,  "painted  like  a  flower. " 

In  this  manner  the  party  wished  the  Grand 
Canyon  described,  but  the  Bear  has  too  much 
respect  for  Nature  to  paw  over  it  with  his  Water- 
man fountain  pen.  None  but  a  blithering  idiot 
would  attempt  an  adequate  description  of  this 
stupendous  amphitheatre.  One  might  as  well 
undertake  a  picture  of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 
When  that  eventful  day  finally  comes  the  cere- 
monies will  surely  be  held  here.  The  canyon  is 
built  for  a  performance  of  this  kind. 

Among  the  first  things  we  did  was  to  seek 
out  Captain  Hance,  the  Baron  Munchausen 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe' Trail  25 

of  this  place.  He  tells  impossible  stories  with 
the  calm  air  of  an  advertising  man  and  the 
gentle  assurance  of  a  spring  poet.  But  he 

ABSOLUTELY  REFUSED  TO  TAKE  Us  DOWN  THE 
CANYON 

The  Bear,  with  all  claws  set,  attempted  the 
first  reach  or  two  of  this  trail.  It  was  covered 
with  hard-packed  snow  and  ice,  was  about  two 
feet  wide,  and  a  slip  would  have  sent  one  sailing 
into  space.  Captain  Hance  certainly  was  right 
in  refusing  to  lead  our  party  down  the  trail,  and 
his  caution  explains  the  extraordinary  statement 
that  no  serious  accident  has  ever  occurred  at 
the  canyon.  The  sides  drop  anywhere  from 
300  to  3,000  feet,  and  why  some  maniac  has  not 
chosen  this  dramatic  opportunity  to  end  his  days 
we  can't  imagine.  I  confess  that,  standing,  as 
we  continually  did,  on  the  brink  of  these  chasms, 
my  legs  felt  as  though  they  were  made  of  jelly 
which  had  not  thoroughly  jelled. 

In  the  morning  we  drove,  and  two  of  us  rode 
ponies,  to  some  point  to  look  over  the  canyon. 
In  the  afternoon  all  went  together  in  a  huge  old- 
fashioned  stage  to  Sentinel  Point  and  looked 
some  more.  The  horses  in  this  part  of  the  world 
are  wonders,  so  sure  of  foot  and  intelligent. 

THE  GAZELLE  AND  BEAR  GALLOPED  BACK  TO  THE 

CAR 

over  frozen  roads  and  at  breakneck  speed,  yet 
not  a  hair's  breadth  did  they  slip. 


26  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

The  afternoon  we  spent  about  No.  99,  now  our 
old  and  true  friend,  the  bird  sharp  of  our  party 
going  into  spasms  of  joy  over  the  big  blue  jays ;  as 
big  as  crows  and  as  brilliant  as  The  Ladies'  Home 
Journal.  They  picked  up  a  late  lunch  from  the 
tracks  beside  our  car.  Other  visitors  came  in  a 
mangy  crowd  of  Hava  Supai  Indians  (from  the 
Cataract  Canyon,  forty  miles  away),  who  made 
us  pay  ten  cents  each  for  a  glimpse  of  their  filthy 
babies.  It  is  strange  how  these  Indians  charm 
us — but  this  they  certainly  do. 

THE  NINTH  DAY  (February  16) 

Those  of  us  who  were  at  the  "Bright  Angel" 
hotel  were  aroused  before  daylight  by  the  sten- 
torian voice  of  a  mighty  mountaineer  roaring  and 
resounding  through  the  hall,  "  Six  o'clock ! 
Those  wishing  to  sleep  until  seven  have  an 
hour  yet!"  A  few  minutes  later  the  same 
resonant  fog-horn  yelled  the  word  "  Break- 
fast!" Needless  to  say 

THE  SEVEN-O'CLOCK  SLEEPERS  GAVE  UP 

and  arose  to  see  the  indolent  sun  follow  suit. 
Those  in  the  car  had  an  even  more  dramatic 
awakening.  The  mercury  in  the  thermometer 
had  been  hovering  around  zero  for  two  days,  and 
the  poor,  overworked  steam  pipes  became  dis- 
couraged, and  at  about  6  A.  M.  a  coupling  blew 
off  with  a  report  that  made  the  Bears  and  the 
Lambs  wish  they  had  lived  better  lives,  and 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  27 

induced  resolutions  for  the  future,  conditioned 
upon  a  preservation  and  prolongation  of  life. 
Alas !  how  sad  that  they  should  so  soon  be 
broken. 

Well,  we  have  started  again  on  our  pursuit  of 
the  "  Setting  Sun. "  We  intended  to  stay  another 
day  at  "  Bright  Angel, "  but  because  of 

THE    DECLINATION    OF    CAPTAIN     HANCE     TO 
GUIDE  Us 

down  the  trail,  we  decided  to  start  on  ahead 
of  our  schedule,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
our  Mighty  Magician  of  a  Hobo  had  ordered  two 
sleighs  to  be  shipped  from  Williams,  sixty-five 
miles  away,  for  our  use  on  a  trip  to  Grand  View 
at  the  head  of  Cameron's  trail,  to-day.  So  we 
bade  farewell  to  that  marvel  of  nature  which  has 
baffled  the  best  descriptive  powers  of  so  many 
competent  writers,  and  by  its  immensity  appalled 
the  cleverest  of  artists,  and  at  nine  o'clock  car 
No.  99,  with  its  ravenous  but  hilarious  party  at 
breakfast,  began  to  roll  back  toward  Williams. 

During  our  somewhat  protracted  wait  at  that 
point  we  had  an  interesting  discussion  on  ethics 
and  religion,  and  while  we  seemed  to  agree  that 

THE   REALLY    HONEST    MAN    is   A   SOMEWHAT 
RARE  EXOTIC, 

and  that  Diogenes,  were  he  with  us  to-day, 
would  have  to  work  his  lantern  overtime,  the 
trend  of  mankind  is,  after  all,  toward  a  better  and 


28  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

simpler  religion,  irrespective  of  creeds  and,  in  a 
measure,  of  churches.  There  were  some  irrelevant 
remarks  about  a  recent  blanket  purchase,  with 
convincing  arguments  by  the  Lamb  that  com- 
mercial law  and  the  law  of  the  survival  of  the 
fittest  require  that  purchases  should  always  be 
made  in  the  cheapest  markets  obtainable. 

At  3:30  P.  M.  we  left  Williams  for  Raymond, 
and  our  next  victim  has  the  light  and  easy  task 
of  recording  our  first  impressions  of  California. 

THE  TENTH   DAY   (February   lyth) 

With  a  shiver  of  cold,  the  tourists  arose,  pulled 
up  the  stateroom  curtain,  and  there  was  still  the 
' '  desert. ' '  True,  there  was  the  ' '  yucca, ' '  showing 
that  we  were  in  California.  But  where  were  the 
flowers — especially  where  was  the  warm,  sunny 
climate?  For  an  hour  we  rode.  Suddenly,  we 
passed  through  a  rocky  gorge  in  the  mountains, 
then  the  train  glided  on  a  down-track;  quickly 
the  grass  became  green  and  we  were  in  the  San 
Bernardino  Valley.  We  had  crossed  the  Divide — 
the  great  Divide  between  God's  land  and  man's 
land — we  were  in  California  !  The  dream  of  years 
had  been  realized  !  On  sped  the  train,  and  as  the 
cakes  piled  onto  the  merry  breakfast  table  (and 
disappeared  as  quickly  as  they  came),  the 
4 'special"  seemed  to  go  on  through  a  perfect 
lane  of  orange  and  lemon  groves,  with  the 
pepper  trees  laden  with  their  fruit,  the  almond 
trees  in  bloom,  cacti  everywhere,  while  the 
sweet,  green  grass  sent  a  fresh  aroma  on 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  29 

the  "back  porch"  of  car  Number  99  that 
seemed  like  a  breath  of  a  May  day  in  the 
East.  The  pictures  of  the  lithographer's  art 
which  we  had  for  years  seen  of  distant, 
snowpeaked  mountains,  with  orange  trees 
with  their  deep-geen  leafage  and  golden 
fruit  in  full  bearage  in  the  foreground,  became 
pictures  of  the  eye. 

LEAVING  OLD  No.  99 


Eleven  o'clock  brought  us  to  Raymond  station, 
and  there  must  be  the  parting  of  the  tourists  with 
"99,"  which  for  seven  days  had  been  their  home 
on  wheels.  It  seemed  strange  to  see  the  car  of 
pleasant  friendships  and  memories  pull  out  of  the 
depot  with  the  tourists  on  the  station  platform 
and  the  gentlemanly  Hobo  on  the  ''back  porch" 
waving  his  good-by  to  his  traveling  companions. 
But  tides  and  railroads  wait  for  no  man,  and  less 
so  on  sentiment,  and  in  a  moment  the  thread 
seemed  to  be  broken.  It  was  not  strange,  perhaps, 
that  a  tug  at  the  heartstrings  seemed  a  general 
feeling  as  the  tourists  climbed  into  the  hotel  'bus 
and  in  a  moment  or  two  were  landed  on  a  sure- 
enough  porch — the  porch  of  the  Hotel  Raymond. 
Truly,  the  tourists  in  a  special  car  had  fallen  to 
the  level  of  a  first-class  hotel  filled  with  people 
dressed  in  studied  negligee.  In  less  than  ten 
minutes  every  member  of  the  party  was  in  a 
bathtub,  and  everything,  save  the  memories  of 
"  99, "  went  with  the  water  through  the  drains. 


30  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

AT  RAYMOND-PASADENA 

It  was  certainly  like  a  dream-picture  that  the 
tourists  looked  upon  from  the  front  of  the  hotel 
an  hour  later — a  hotel  set  in  the  middle  of  a 
garden  with  a  flora  as  profuse  in  February  as  in 
June  in  the  East.  Twenty-four  hours  ago  we  were 
shivering  in  an  atmosphere  of  zero ;  now  the  ther- 
mometer smiled  at  us  as  it  registered  seventy 
degrees. 

With  lunch  over,  the  Gazelle  chaperoned 
the  ladies  to  Pasadena,  while  the  Bear  and 
the  Lamb  took  up  their  golf -sticks  and  sought  the 
links.  Then  came  a  view  of  the  first  California 
sunset,  and  with  it  the  tourists  shed  their  traveling 
clothes  and,  arrayed  in  full  evening  garb,  became 
part  of  the  life  around  them. 

But  with  recollections  of  a  freer  life  and  the 
little  sitting-room  of  "  99  "  they  cry  aloud : 

"  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? " 

FROM  THE  ELEVENTH  TO  THE  FOURTEENTH  DAYS 
(February  i8th,  igth,  2oth  and  2ist) 

It  is  a  terrible  come-down  from  the  privacy  and 
unrestrained  hilarity  of  our  dear  departed  car  to 
the  commonplace,  Waldorf-Astoria  sort  of  hotel, 
thronged  with  fashionables,  mostly  from  the  effete 
East.  No  singing  at  the  table  here;  no  more 
jollying;  nothing  to  eat  but  too  much  food; 
nothing  to  wear  but  our  bestest  clothes; 
nowhere  to  go  but  out  (for  parlors  and  corri- 
dors swarm  with  tourists) — out  on  the  golf 
links,  out  on  the  trolley  car, 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail  31 

OUT  TO  THE  ORIENTAL  AND  INDIAN  SHOPS 

out  a-carriage  ridin',  out  a-callin'  and  answerin' 
telephone  calls.  There  was  no  time  to  write 
letters;  none  even  to  write  up  this  diary,  which 
had  to  wait  for  our  ride  in  a  parlor  car  to  San 
Diego. 

The  l^amb  and  the  Bear  made  the  mistake  of 
their  lives  when  they  allowed  themselves  to  be 
interviewed  by  the  first  reporter.  Presently 
reporters  began  to  swarm  around  like  hornets, 
especially  after  some  tactful,  pleasant  remarks 
about  Women's  Clubs  had  been  printed  in 
newspapers  of  Los  Angeles,  the  town  where  the 
federated  Women's  Clubs  of  America  met 
only  last  year,  and 

WHERE  THE  WOMEN  ARE  So  ADVANCED  (?) 

as  to  have  erected  two  fine  club-houses.  Oh ! 
gentle  Lamb,  how  could  you  be  so  cruel  ? 

As  it  turned  out,  all  the  Tenderfeet  had  friends 
in  Pasadena:  the  Johnsons,  their  pretty  trained 
nurse  now  pitifully  wrecked  by  tuberculosis;  the 
Boks'  school  friends,  photographers  and  reporters ; 
the  Doubledays,  some  Indian  cranks  and 
Brooklyn  relatives.  The  latter  came  to  lunch 
with  them  on  Wednesday  to  compare  traveling 
experiences.  What  the  Dickinson  relatives 
missed  by  not  leaving  the  train  for  side  trips  in 
New  Mexico  and  Arizona  was  mercilessly  borne 
in  upon  them  until  they  winced  with  pain.  After 
luncheon,  while  the  men  chased  the  merry  Haskells 


32  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

over  the  links,  the  wives,  with  the  Dickinson 
guests,  drove  around  the  country  searching  for  a 
happier  home  on  a  ranch.  We  found  a  dream  of 
a  place:  a  bower  of  flowers  surrounded  by  acres 
of  orange  trees  in  full  bearing  and  a  would-be  host 
whose  western  hospitality  was  quickly  quenched 
by  an  overpowering,  austere  spouse  who 

WOULDN'T  BE  BOTHERED  WITH  Us 

— Us  with  a  capital  U,  erstwhile  the  pampered 
darlings  of  the  Santa  F6 :  Us,  for  whom  kings  had 
abdicated  thrones  and  Hibbards  their  private 
cars.  Poor  Tenderfeet:  they  are  getting  thorns 
in  them ! 

Bright  and  early  Thursday  morning  "the 
original  ostrich  farm  of  California  "  was  visited  and 
the  kodaks  snapped  incessantly.  Doubtless  the 
pictures  will  do  more  than  this  blunt  lead  pencil 
can  to  describe  the  gigantic,  interesting  birds. 
Like  so  many  other  enterprises  in  California,  this 
farm  is  owned  and  managed  by  Englishmen.  The 
intelligent  keeper  of  the  ostriches  has  served 
his  apprenticeship  in  Africa.  Oh !  how  these 
Englishmen  travel  from  their  little  isle  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth  if  only  they  may  make  a  living. 

This  Recording  Angel's  lips  need  to  be  touched 
with  a  live  coal  if  she  is  to  tell  of  Charles  F. 
Lummis, 

PERHAPS  THE  BEST-KNOWN  MAN  IN  CALIFORNIA 

and  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the  just  (though  the 
Tenderfeet  are  not  unanimous  on  that  point) ; 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  33 

certainly  a  good  deal  of  a  crank  and  more  or  less 
of  a  genius.  We  found  him  dressed  in  white 
cotton  overalls  and  jacket,  his  flannel  shirt  open 
at  the  throat,  hatless,  an  aureole  of  bushy, 
grayish  hair  around  his  keen  but  pleasant  face; 
with  trowel  in  hand — for  he  was  laying  a  wall  to 
extend  his  house  when  we  entered  his  grounds. 
But  he  quickly  dropped  his  tools  to  welcome  the 
Sequoya  Leaguers.  Sometime,  if  he  lives  to  be 
two  hundred  or  so,  he  will  finish  the  house  which 
he  has  built  thus  far  with  the  help  of  only  an 
Indian  boy.  One  section — enough  for  comfort- 
is  now  lived  in  by  his  family.  It  has  taken  him 
four  years  to  build  it,  but  the  work  has  been  his 
recreation  and  joy. 

Steeped  as  he  is  in  Spanish  history,  how  could 
he  build  anything  but  a  mission-house  with  thick 
stone  walls,  red-tiled  roof,  open  court — in  which 
a  beloved  old  sycamore  spreads  its  blanched  limbs 
toward  the  encircling  walls.  An  ancient  bronze 
bell,  brought  from  a  distant  mission,  swings  from 
the  arched  gateway,  giving  the  verisimilitude  of 
truth  to  an  already  convincing  bit  of  architecture. 
Solid  hand-hewn  doors,  with  hand-wrought  hinges, 
swing  inward,  and  we  enter  upon  rooms  filled  with 
treasures  that  every  museum  in  the  land  must 
envy:  exquisite  weavings  of  the  Incas,  pottery 
from  prehistoric  cliff-dwellings,  Pueblo  ollas, 
rarely  beautiful  old  Mexican  and  Navajo  blankets, 
Spanish  manuscripts,  Latin 

MISSALS  FROM  THE  FIRST  AMERICAN  MONASTERIES 
Peruvian  cloth  with  the  pattern  inserted  like 


34  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

that  of  a  Persian  Kez  Killim,  marvelous  Mexican 
opals/and  paintings  by  William  Keith,  a  truly  great 
artist  after  the  composite  manner  of  Rousseau, 
Corot  and  Constable,  of  whom  we  of  the  effete 
East  had  never  even  heard  but  whom  we  hope 
to  meet  in  San  Francisco.  Artistic,  historic  and 
prehistoric  treasures  galore  has  our  host,  and 
with  such  alone  is  his  house  adorned.  Surely  this 
is  a  tangible  exponent  of  William  Morris's  theory 
that  a  home  should  contain  only  that  which  is 
useful  or  what  is  believed  to  be  beautiful. 

This  was  a  strenuous  day,  for  another  lunch 
party  to  the  Lambs  was  immediately  followed  by 
a  round  of  calls  in  Los  Angeles  by  the  Lady  Tender- 
feet,  while  their  exempt  husbands  toyed  once 
more  with  the  Haskells  and  Kempshels.  It  might 
have  been  expected  that  the  deserted  wives  of 
the  High  and  Mighty  Hobo  and  the  Conservator 
would  turn  cold  shoulders  upon  us,  but  the 
warmth  of  the  reception  given  us  by  Mrs.  Byrne 
and  Miss  McGee,  who  did  the  honors  in  her 
mother's  absence,  convinced  us  that  the  men  of 
those  households  did  not  tell  all  about  this 
party  that  they  knew. 

GREAT  EXCITEMENT  THRILLED  THE  TENDERFEET 

on  Friday  morning  when  Mr.  Hill,  of  Pasadena, 
took  some  of  us  for  a  trolley  ride  among  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Sierras  and  the  most  perfect  bungalow 
was  discovered  in  the  midst  of  an  earthly  paradise 
that  might  possibly  be  rented  for  a  consideration. 
While  hope  of  securing  this  ideal  resting-place 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  35 

remained,  we  floated  around  in  rose-colored 
clouds  of  ecstasy,  in  which  Robert  and  his  griddle 
appeared  as  if  in  a  mirage.  We  have  the  memory 
of  that  morning  among  the  heavenly  foothills— 
"  simply  that  and  nothing  more. " 

Another  dash  to  Los  Angeles  and  we  reached 
the  California  Club  in  time  for  the  splendiferous 
violet  luncheon  given  the  Tenderfeet  by  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Byrne  and  Dorothy's  friend,  Constance. 
Reminiscences  of  a  busy  week  were  the  staple  of 
conversations.  Yes,  decidedly,  California  is  the 
greatest  State  in  the  Union  (except  possibly  the 
Empire  or  the  Keystone).  Once  more  the 
men 

DESERT  Us  FOR  THE  GOLF-LINKS, 

this  time  to  the  Country  Club,  while  Mrs. 
Byrne  takes  the  ladies  to  drive  through  miles  and 
miles  of  streets  lined  with  charming  homes,  for 
the  most  part  small  or  unpretentious,  but  of  a 
surprisingly  high  average  of  architecture.  It  is 
true  these  beautiful,  luxuriant  gardens  would 
enhance  the  attractiveness  of  any  home,  but  we 
all  agreed  that  we  had  never  seen  elsewhere  so 
many  homelike,  artistic,  high-class  residences  to 
the  mile  as  in  Los  Angeles. 

But  then,  we  had  not  seen  Pasadena.  On 
Saturday  morning  our  good  Samaritan,  Mr.  Hill, 
took  us  to  drive  through  the  beautiful  shady 
avenues  of  this  gem  of  a  little  city  whose  suburb, 
Altadena,  makes  the  boasted  suburbs  of 


36  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

BOSTON  AND   PHILADELPHIA  LOOK  LIKE  "Two 
BITS," 

as  they  call  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  here ;  that  is 
to  say,  they  look,  by  comparison,  less  than  thirty 
cents. 

Half  a  dozen  families  offered  to  move  themselves 
out  of  their  happy  homes  if  we  cared  to  occupy 
them  for  a  week  or  longer — to  live  at  hotels, 
camp  out,  sleep  in  the  gutter,  live  anyhow  so 
that  we  pampered  Easterners  might  get  what  we 
wanted.  The  hospitality  and  kindness  of  these 
good  people  are  wholesome  lessons  to  take  to  heart. 

The  evening  of  the  2ist  was  eventful  because 
our  Conservator  brought  Mrs.  McGee  to  dine 
with  us.  Mr.  Vroman  showed  us  a  series  of 
photographs  that  he  made  of  the  route  the  Tender- 
feet  had  traveled  so  recently — marvelous  pictures, 
showing  a  skill  that  is  not  surpassed  by  any  one 
in  America  and  an  appreciation  of  the  Red  Man 
in  his  natural  environment  that  awed  even  Indian 
Nell  into  silence. 

THE  FIFTEENTH  DAY  (February  22nd) 

Bright  and  early  on  the  next  morning  of  the 
great  and  glorious  22nd  we  all  left  the  Raymond, 
again  as  guests  of  Mr.  Byrne,  the  erstwhile  High 
and  Mighty  Hobo,  in  a  special  observation  car, 
for  the  far-famed  "  kite-shaped  track."  The  rest 
of  the  party  included  Mrs.  Byrne  and  her  two 
little  girls,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel  Clover  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  McGee. 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  37 

After  riding  two  or  more  hours  through  a 
wonderful  fruit-growing  district,  we  left  the  train 
at  Redlands,  where  a  commodious  four-in-hand 
was  awaiting  us;  and  after  a  short  delay  at  the 
corner  druggist's,  where  oxir  great  black  Bear 
must  absorb  an  alleged  bromo-seltzer,  we  were 
driven  about  the  town  and  then  out  to  Smiley 
Heights,  where  the  road  turned  and  twisted  for 
miles  through  a  wilderness  of  strange  and  beauti- 
ful vegetation,  until  we  overlooked  the  country 
round  and  the  miles  of  perfectly  kept  orange 
groves,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  " Alice's" 
chess-board  in  the  looking-glass.  We  returned 
to  Redlands  at  noon,  and  had  lunch  at  Casa 
Loma,  in  weirdly  assorted  groups,  then  back  to 
our  train,  which  soon  afterward  deposited  us  at 
Riverside,  where  we  had  another  and  more 
glorious  drive 

THROUGH  SUCH  A  WEALTH  OF  ORANGE  GROVES 

as  we  had  never  dreamed  of,  extending  mile  after 
mile  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  The  town 
here  is  very  thriving,  the  new  public  school  a  per- 
fect joy  to  look  upon,  a  pure  type  of  the  mission 
architecture,  as  is  also  the  great  Indian  school  here ; 
but  above  and  beyond  everything  stands  out  in 
my  memory  the  stately  Magnolia  Avenue,  appar- 
ently going  on  forever  with  its  five  rows  of  trees 
— the  graceful,  brilliantly  berried  pepper  trees  in 
the  centre.  White  with  dust,  we  returned  again 
to  our  train  and  were  entertained  for  some  time 
with  original  recitations  by  Mr.  Clover,  and 


38  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

much  conversation  on  all  sides,  and  at  six- 
something,  or  thereabouts,  we  found  ourselves 
back  at  the  Raymond,  tired  as  dogs,  it  is  true, 
but  with  another  evergreen  firmly  planted  in 
memory's  garden. 

THE  SIXTEENTH  DAY  (February  23d) 

On  Monday  morning  we  arose  refreshed,  and 
adamant  as  to  our  resolve  of  the  previous  day 
that  we  would  move  on  down  to  San  Diego;  so 
while  the  Bear,  Lamb  and  Gazelle  gambolled  on 
the  green  with  Mr.  Fiske, 

THEIR  POOR  LITTLE  WIVES  SLAVED  OVER  TRUNKS 

and  valises,  Mrs.  Lamb  being  expeditious 
enough  to  accomplish  one  last  flight  into  Pasadena 
for  the  purpose  of  scattering  shekels  in  certain 
curio  establishments  as  usual ;  and  at  1 2  130  we 
all  met  about  our  once  festive  board,  so  changed 
is  it,  alas !  from  those  glad  feasts  on  our  never-to- 
be-forgotten  Car  99.  Then  we  thankfully  bade 
good-by  to  the  Raymond  and  all  its  glories  and 
departed  via  the  blessed  Santa  Fe  (long  may  it 
wave  ! ),  only  to  find  our  good  Conservator  await- 
ing us  at  Los  Angeles  with  pockets  bulging  with 
our  accumulated  mail.  Not  only  that,  but  he 
announced  the  cheering  fact  that  he  was  to 
accompany  us,  that  all  the  thorns  might  be 
removed  from  the  path  of  our  still  tender  feet. 

After  riding  two  or  three  hours  through  very 
beautiful  country,  always  with  the  Sierra  Madre 
and  San  Jacinto  ranges  for  the  background, 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  39 

WE   CAME   UPON    OUR   FIRST   GENUINE   POPPY 
FIELD, 

followed  very  shortly  by  the  picturesque 
mission  of  San  Juan  Capistrano,  which  was 
founded  the  same  year  that  our  nation  was,  and 
which  was  partially  destroyed  in  1812  by  an 
earthquake.  Not  long  after  this  we  came  upon 
the  glorious  Pacific,  our  train  running  for  sixty 
miles  along  the  coast,  with  now  and  then  a  few 
rocks  near  shore  plentifully  besprinkled  with  seals 
sunning  themselves;  then  came  little  coves  and 
inlets  alive  with  ducks  sailing,  diving  and  flying. 
When  at  last  we  reached  San  Diego,  a  wagonette 
carried  us  down  to  the  wharf,  then  on  the  ferry 
and  across  the  bay  to  Coronado,  which  is  on  a 
peninsula,  and  we  find  ourselves  ensconced  in  a 
mammoth  caravansary,  not  conspicuous  for  its 
beauty,  but,  as  our  Conservator  remarks,  con- 
taining in  its  lower  regions 

"EVERYTHING    FROM    MANICURES   TO    CURIOS, " 

so  some  of  us  should  be  contented  while  others 
golf.  However  that  may  be,  we  all  speedily 
"seek  the  seclusion  which  our  cabins  grant," 
to  be  fit  for  the  fray  again  to-morrow. 

THE  SEVENTEENTH  DAY  (February  24th) 

On  awaking  from  sleep  more  or  less  troubled, 
the  party  decided  that  they  loathed  this  place. 
By  noon,  however,  they  had  taken  heart  and 


4o  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

realized  that  they  were  dangerously  near  liking  it, 
and  when  luncheon  came,  and  each  one  of  them 
had  devoured  thirty-two  steamed  clams,  they 
rose  in  a  body  and  declared  that  no  one  would 
ever,  ever  hear  them  say 

"  WE  ARE  GOING  AWAY  FROM  HERE" 

In  detail,  their  day  was  as  follows:  After 
breakfast  the  Bear,  the  Lamb  and  the  Gazelle 
went  off  for  golf,  and  had  a  fine  morning  on  the 
links,  which  has  the  San  Diego  Bay  on  one 
side  and  the  Pacific  Ocean  on  the  other.  The 
Conservator  took  the  ladies  to  San  Diego  by 
trolley,  going  to  what  the  H.  and  M.  Hobo  would 
call  the  "hoopskirts"  of  the  town,  where  they 
spent  twenty  minutes  on  the  porch  of  a  pavilion 
overlooking  a  great  valley  which  lay  below  them. 
The  San  Jacinta  Mountains,  with  the  Sierra 
Madres  back  of  them,  were  ahead  of  us — the 
valley  between — and  two  miles  from  where  we 
sat  was  the  oldest  mission  in  California.  As  we 
rested, 

THE  MEADOW  LARKS  FILLED  THE  AIR  WITH  THEIR 
SONGS 

and  the  music  and  the  quiet  restfulness  of  it  all 
entered  our  hearts  and  peace  came.  All  met  at 
the  Coronado  Salt-water  Swimming  Tank  at 
i  p.  M.  and  had  a  glorious  time  swimming  and 
sliding  down  chutes  from  dizzy  heights — and  no 
height  was  too  dizzy  for  the  Littlest  D.  G.  S. 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  41 

She  distinguished  herself,  and  I  am  sure  she  has 
another  evergreen  for  her  garden,  worthy  of  a 
place  near  that  other  to  which  her  Albuquerque 
calico  pony  is  tied.  In  the  afternoon  the  party 
walked  along  the  shore  to  the  Tea  Garden,  finding 
a  new  type  of  ice-plant  and  numberless  sweet- 
smelling  wild  flowers  along  the  way.  The  gate  of 
the  Tea  Garden  was  opened  for  us  by 

A  SMILING,  SOFT- VOICED  LITTLE  JAPANESE 
WOMAN 

Kiku  Saito  by  name,  to  whom  we  all  instantly 
lost  our  hearts.  She  served  us  with  tea  and 
cakes  in  a  lovely  little  arbor,  every  proportion  and 
detail  of  which  seemed  as  perfect  as  it  was  petite. 
The  garden  was  as  neat  and  pretty  as  could  be, 
with  its  little  stream,  its  growing  bamboo,  its  lake 
filled  with  gold  fish,  and  its  bits  of  lawn  with  tiny, 
twisted  old  trees  that  "antedate  all  dates,"  if  we 
are  to  believe  what  was  told  us.  A  Japanese 
house  was  in  the  centre,  to  which  guests  were 
invited  if  they  would  put  on  the  Japanese  straw 
slippers  before  entering  the  antiseptically  clean 
dwelling. 

We  left  the  garden  and  Saito  with  regret,  and 
walked  back  to  the  hotel  in  an  air  that  was 
wonderful  in  its  sweetness,  and  balminess  that  was 
as  bracing  as  it  was  delicious. 

THE    SUNSET    OVER    THE    PACIFIC 

was  something  to  be  remembered  and  worthy 
of  another  tree-planting.  By  this  time  we  hated 


42  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

to  leave  Coronado — but  plans  had  been  made  for 
us  and  we  had  to  start  northward  the  next 
morning  at  8  o'clock. 

THE  EIGHTEENTH   DAY    (February  25th) 

After  a  four  hours'  ride  from  San  Diego  we 
reached  Los  Angeles,  still  in  the  company  of  our 
Conservator.  We  refused  to  be  parted  from  him, 
and  asked  him  to  take  luncheon  with  us  at  Levy's 
— a  place  which  did  not  fulfil  all  our  hopes  for  it. 
After  luncheon  our  Conservator  escorted  us  to 
the  train,  where  we  were  to  begin  our  acquaintance 
with  the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad. 

Kind  people  met  us  here,  welcomed  us  to  their 
road,  and  gave  us 

A    COMFORTABLE  START    FOR    SANTA    BARBARA, 

but  our  minds  were  full  of  the  thought  that 
now  we  must  part  from  our  Conservator.  He 
beamed  kindly,  paternal  smiles,  but  we  found 
words  absurdly  inadequate  when  it  came  to  voic- 
ing our  grateful  adieus  to  that  Prince  of  Care- 
takers. His  courtesy  and  graciousness,  all  the 
time  that  we  had  been  with  him,  had  far  exceeded 
the  bounds  of  any  "  instructions, "  and  we  treasure 
the  memory  of  that  kindly  gentleman. 

NINETEENTH    TO    THE    TWENTY-FIFTH    DAY 
(Thursday,    February    26th    to    March  4,   1903) 

AT  SANTA  BARBARA 

Once  more  the  Santa  Fe  influence  was  felt,  as 
Mr.  Ripley  had  engaged  rooms  for  us  at  the 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail  43 

Arlington.  The  place  was  so  crowded  we  should 
probably  have  been  obliged  to  sleep  hung  on  the 
nail  of  a  front  porch  but  for  his  kindness. 

Of  course  the  first  thing  we  did  after  a  ten- 
hours'  sleep  was  to  pay  our  respects  to  Mr.  Ripley, 
who  again  pushed  us  along  in  the  real  Santa  F6 
style  by  inviting  us  to  play  golf,  putting  us  up 
for  a  fortnight's  membership  at  the  Santa  Barbara 
Country  Club,  and  in  general  giving  us  the  right 
hand  of  fellowship  in  its  most  fraternal  and 
helpful  form. 

The  brutes  of  the  party  played  golf  perhaps  a 
little — just  a  very  little — more  than  the  law  allows ; 
and  seeing  an  impending  cloud  arising  on  the 
face  of  the  sun  of  feminine  loveliness,  Mrs.  Ripley 
invited  the  ladies  to  a  golf  widows'  lunch,  which, 
as  an  exhibition  of  tact  as  well  as  human  kindness, 
we  agreed  came  close  to  the  limit. 

I  suppose  something  should  be  said  here  about 
Santa  Barbara,  but  I  feel  an  embarrassment  to 
know  how  to  begin,  as  the  lady  did  at  the  Grand 
Canyon.  She  approached  the  edge  of  this  terrific 
chasm,  "13  miles  wide,  218  miles  long  and  painted 
like  a  flower,"  and  began  to  adjust  her  puny 
camera  in  an  agony  of  uncertainty  whether  to 
fix  the  focus  at  thirty-five  feet  or  put  the  gauge 
up  to  a  full  one  hundred. 

Santa  Barbara  is  a  place  to  stay  in,  not  to  stop 
a  day  or  two.  Its  delightful  combination  of 
mountains,  sea,  flowers  and  sunshine  would  take 
a  full-page  advertisement  of  Country  Life  in 
America  to  properly  describe.  There  is  every- 
thing to  do:  you  can  swim  in  the  ocean  or  in  the 


44  On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail 

pool — Los  Bafios  del  Mar;  you  can  drive  a  new 
road,  they  say,  every  day  for  a  month;  you  can 
spend  your  husband's  money  in  baskets  and 
other  things;  you  can  play  golf  until  you  drop 
on  the  most  beautiful  links  you  ever  saw  along 
the  ocean's  shore;  you  can  talk  Spanish  to  your 
Mexican  caddies,  and  they  won't  understand 
that  you  are  cussing  them  for  a  lost  ball;  you 
can  play  tennis  at  the  club,  and  craps  at  the 
corner  saloon;  you  can  sleep  after  lunch  without 
rocking  (even  the  Gazelle  did) ;  you  can  ride 
horseback  until  every  bone  rises  up  and  howls 
with  pain  (the  Lady  Bear's  bones  did:  we  heard 
'em);  you  can  meet  old  friends  on  the  streets — 
the  Gazelles  met  the  Knoxes,  the  Lambs 
met  an  aunt  who  had  recently  married  a 
thrice-mated  old  gentleman  who  was  building 
an  old  ladies'  home  to  pass  his  last  days  in; 
the  Bears  met  the  Lockwood  De  Forests  and 
planned  a  scheme  for  Rudyard  Kipling's  visit 
to  this  country  which  will  probably  be  killed; 
and  we  all  met  Carrie  Nation,  "our  loving 
home  defender,"  who  haranged  us  vigorously 
on  the  evils  of  smoking  cigarettes,  especially 
as  the  fumes  of  the  weed  issued  from  the 
mouth  of  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal  ;  you 
can  visit  the  mission  which  is  supposed  to  be 
particularly  great,  and  see  an  old  and  beautiful 
building  run  by  modern  thrifty  monks  who  show 
around  hordes  of  visitors  for  a  small  fee;  if  you 
are  a  lady  you  can't  set  foot  in  the  mission  gardens 
because  only  three  women  ever  have  done  so; 
you  can  believe  all  you  like  about  these  Santa 


On  the  New  Santa  Fe'  Trail  45 

Barbara  mission  stories  and  forget  the  rest;  you 
can  ride  on  an  observation  trolley-car  and  see  the 
whole  town  in  two  hours  for  fifty  cents  per  mutton 
head;  and  so  on. 

THE  TWENTY-SIXTH  AND  TWENTY-SEVENTH  DAYS 

We  have  at  last  discovered  why  we  brought 
our  umbrellas  more  than  three  thousand  miles 
from  their  happy  homes,  for  we  have  actually 
experienced  a  rainy  day — the  first  on  our  travels-r- 
and that  naturally  draws  attention  to  the  water 
question  which,  in  an  Irish  sense,  is  a  burning  one 
with  the  California  ranchers.  In  some  of  the 
most  prolific  fruit-growing  sections  the  average 
total  rainfall  does  not  exceed  fifteen  inches  per 
annum,  and  every  drop  is  husbanded — the  Los 
Angeles  River  is  not  even  permitted  the  luxury 
of  a  mouth,  all  of  its  wetness  being  diverted  and 
absorbed  before  reaching  the  sea. 

It  seems  odd  that  in  such  a  State  the  water 
exported  should  amount  to  many  thousand  tons 
annually.  It  goes  out 

DONE  UP  IN  NEAT  AND  SUCCULENT  FORM 

to  the  markets  of  the  world;  of  course  I  refer 
to  the  citrus  fruits. 

During  the  absence  of  the  lady  members  of  the 
Zoo  at  Mrs.  Ripley's  house,  the  male  specimens 
inveigled  the  large-minded,  delightfully  many- 
sided  and  able  President  of  the  Santa  F6  into  one 
of  their  dens  at  the  Arlington  for  luncheon.  Then, 


46  On  the  New  Santa  Fe  Trail 

feeling  that  we  should  not  further  attempt  to 
gild  fine  gold,  the  Zoo  pulled  up  stakes  and  bade 
good-by  to  Santa  Barbara. 

Here  ends  this  truthful  chronicle,  for  we  have 
sailed  out  from  under  the  kindly  hands  of  the 
Santa  F6.  No  more  will  the  gentle  and 
patient  High  and  Mighty  Hobo  cast  a  spell 
about  us,  and  make  engines  and  cars,  and 
meat  and  drink,  and  sunshine  and  shade  appear 
as  by  a  "magic"  ;  not  again  shall  the  suave 
Conservator  appear  at  our  right  hand  and  take  us 
out  of  all  our  minor  troubles,  answer  all  our 
questions,  give  us  the  impression  that  there  is 
no  time  but  our  time  and  nothing  going  on  in 
the  world  excepting  just  US. 


THE  END 


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